Siren Song
by Elliotsmelliot
Summary: Rousseau's arrival on the island as interpreted by an enchanted Jacob. Prequel to State of Emergency.


x x x

The other men call her Danielle or Rousseau. Jacob calls her his sea cow. He's not too far removed from the world to realize this is an unusual term of endearment, one that to an outsider is downright unflattering, but it's not as if he'll have to explain himself at cocktail parties. He can't help but think of her in any other way, not since she poured out of the tempestuous ocean, her body overflowing with water and child, swathed in a cocoon of seaweed.

Jacob has never wanted anything more.

She is his magnificent secret. He alerts no one to the newcomers' arrival and even resists getting too close himself. He watches her constantly but does not interfere, instead he listens and learns. He discovers she's a scientist, which worries him until he finds out her speciality is plankton, organisms buried in algae beds on the ocean floor. Jacob hopes her allegiance to studying creatures invisible to the naked eye will allow her to put faith in the evidence of other things unseen.

He pays barely a passing glance to her six companions, other than to note their devotion to her. She led the mission at sea so they defer to her on land. Two of her party are barely holding it together and she speaks sharply to them, part drill sergeant, part mother hen, and they gather their wits as instructed. The captain refuses to leave the remains of his vessel but she coaxes him to follow them into the jungle, to search for the source of the numbers that lured them to these shores. She calls one of the men, mon chère and sleeps in his arms but that is of no consequence. All of these near sighted fools will become his servants and deliver her to him when the time is right.

A quilt. A mirror. A microscope. Jacob is fond of making lists. These are the things he'll get ready for her arrival. He'll ask Linus to bring them these gifts. Is there anything else, she'll want? Some books, perhaps, if they have anything in French. They won't need much. They'll have each other.

Although he keeps his distance, she senses his presence. She warns the others they are being watched. Jacob is delighted by her perception, another sign she is a deserving mate. He can barely contain his excitement, but he waits until the seventh night to whisper in her ear, mimicking her mother's soothing voice with a song of nonsense. In response her jaw unclenches and she relaxes in her sleep. For everyone else, he stirs up their nightmares, drops in their ears the voice of their colleague drowned in the wreck, the cheating wife back home, the student promised a fellowship if only she would sink to her knees, etcetera, etcetera and so forth.

It takes just over three weeks for the men to go mad. At first they are simply shell shocked but when the whispers turn to visions, the slaughter commences. The captain says adieu one morning, then walks off a cliff. Two of the men, previously the best of friends, turn on each other with knives after an innocent comment about the weather is misconstrued and one of them loses an arm. When he dies shortly after from blood loss, his attacker falls on his own knife.

His sea cow clutches her belly and watches in horror as her team's sanity escapes. She wonders if they've eaten something poisonous or contracted a virus. The survivors bury the dead and move to another campsite further north. That night she finds her lover bashing his forehead against a tree trunk while calling out the names of each Apostle. When she tries to stop him, he strikes her. He is aghast at his actions and begs for her forgiveness. She weeps as she treats his wounds. When he finally sleeps, she packs a bag and leaves the three remaining men.

She runs, they follow. Danielle! Rousseau! She hides in the bowels of the Black Rock, and waits for them in a dark corner, a knife in one hand, a rifle in the other. It's there Jacob visits her, using his own voice for the first time. He tells her to be strong. He tells her she knows what to do. He tells her he is waiting.

They find her just before dawn and by sunrise she's the only one alive. She doesn't have the strength to bury them so she closes their eyes and says a prayer. Before she goes, she removes a gold ring from her finger and slips it into the pocket of the one she called mon chère. The sun reflects off a piece of metal far in the distance. She ventures toward it; for the first few metres her footprints are slippery with the spilled blood.

Jacob wishes he could meet her at the radio tower but it's not possible for him to leave in a form she would recognize, nor is it time for her to join him. There's still one more sacrifice to make. Knowing it will never leave the island, he allows her to record her message. Afterwards, she lies exhausted on the floor of the control room, curled in a ball. Her glassy eyes gaze at the tiny dancer who lives in a box and twirls and twirls but never gets dizzy. Jacob provides a narration to accompany the tinny music. He paints her a picture of their future and describes his home.

Soon, he says.

Soon, she agrees, and strokes her stomach.

Only later he realizes she was not addressing him.

Just as the mother arrived in a storm, so does the child. Jacob believes this is a good omen. He would like his sea cow to leave the shelter of the control room and allow the baby to pour out of her in the open, under the sky. A matter of birth and baptism, all at once. But she is deaf to his wishes, all her energy is focused on delivering the life inside her.

Jacob tries to be patient with her and this foreign process. It's been a long time since he's taken a walk, one foot in front of another, but he feels drawn to the pacing ritual of expectant fathers. He gets up from his rocker and goes outside, circles the grounds surrounding his cabin. He holds his face up to clouds, wishing he could feel the torrent of rain that falls everywhere but on him.

There is a flash of lightening, a crash of thunder and his head is filled with the baby's cries. Good. Good, he thinks. It's finally over. Now she is ready to come. He returns inside, settles in his chair. Come to me, he says, I'll show you the way. Leave the child.

She does not answer.

He calls out a second time but in response all he hears are two heartbeats thumping in unison.

He won't ask again.

He will take what is his.

Linus is summoned, as is Alpert. One is to dispose of the child; the other is to bring him the woman. But when they stand before him, awaiting their assignments, Jacob changes his mind. This is not how it should be. It's worthless unless she comes to him willingly as he knows she will one day. But the child…the child definitely needs to go or she'll have no need for his love.

Seeing Linus, he has another idea. The child will be a reward for his loyalty and further cement his devotion. The child will be taken and raised as a believer. She can never know her origins. The mother will fight this but she is not to be harmed, not now or ever, she is under his protection.

Even when he hears her cries mixed with the child's, he holds out hope that her grief will pass and they will one day unite. Sixteen years later he's still waiting for her to cross the circle of ash. Though she is lean and hard now, Jacob continues to think of her as his sea cow. If anything, he admires her more than when she first arrived. No one has resisted him as long as she has.

Each time the moon is full, he re-issues his invitation.

_Come to me. _

Her response is always the same.

_Alex?_

x x x


End file.
